


Addictions

by furufish



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, References to Addiction, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, more like one suicide mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-03-29 16:45:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3903514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furufish/pseuds/furufish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seto and Furuhashi need each other as much as the drugs they consume.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Addictions

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to skytramp for editting!

Furuhashi woke up to the sleeping mass of Seto by his side. Rubbing his eyes, and pushing his bangs back, realizing he was in desperate need of a haircut, he pushed himself off the bed. The mattress shifted slightly from the sudden absence of his weight, but Seto didn’t move an inch.

Away from the warmth of his blanket, Furuhashi shivered in the freezing winter morning. He hurriedly put on his pants and shirt, both cold from the icy floor. He glanced back to see if Seto was awake. He wasn’t, but Furuhashi knew it was a waste of time to disturb him. The only thing his lazy roommate ever responded to was the smell of a freshly-made cup of espresso.

Upon opening the cabinet, however, Furuhashi realized that they had just run out.

He sighed bitterly as he shut the pantry. Obviously, one of them had forgotten to do the shopping, but at that point, with him being the only one awake, it was pointless to wonder who was at fault. There was really only one option. Hastily putting on his coat and wrapping himself up in a scarf, he went off, down the stairs and into the street.

The cold air greeted him teasingly, rubbing against his flushed, uncovered face. As always, he had to wonder what exactly he was doing, going out at five in the morning, on a freezing winter day, just to get someone else’s coffee.  He lit a cigarette, hoping it would relieve the cold. With the smoke in his mouth and gloved hands shivering in his pockets, Furuhashi cursed his own generosity, muttering profanities under his breath. Though he pretended to wonder why he went through the trouble for the sake of his own pride; he knew, of course, that he would never refuse to do so. It was for Seto, after all; and he would, very reluctantly, do anything for Seto. Even risk pneumonia for a cup of coffee.

His pace quickened in an attempt to shake off the frost. The block-and-a-half-long walk in the winter was hell, but the 24-hour convenience store was an eternal blessing. Whatever they needed, whenever they needed it, it would be found there, at an expensive, yet still merciful price. Furuhashi, usually in charge of shopping, often came when he needed a sweets fix, when he suffered from insomnia, when Seto caught a cold, or when they both felt like having a cheap drink.

The door buzzed when he arrived. Once again, Furuhashi found himself sacrificing cigarette money for coffee, and he briefly lamented Seto’s expensive taste. Avoiding eye-contact with the price tag, he quickly picked up a bag of premium espresso, and also bought a coffee from the store’s machine. That morning, Seto had to settle for the latter. He hated the stuff more than anything, but there was no time to brew a fresh cup at home. Furuhashi gladly considered it revenge for him not having done the shopping.

With the plastic bag between his fingers, Furuhashi made the hellish trip back to their apartment. By the time he entered through the door, trembling from the temperature, Seto was, much to his surprise and dismay, already awake. Furuhashi could hear the sound of eggs frying, no doubt to accompany the leftover rice. As he placed the bag on the kitchen counter, he asked himself why today of all days he was spared from buying coffee. Furuhashi gave Seto a tired glare to which the other responded with an unusually warm smile.

“Ah, my coffee. Thank you, Furuhashi.” Seto reached a hand for the cup, but Furuhashi kept it out of reach.

“Why the hell are you awake already?”

“Beats me. Give me my coffee.”

Furuhashi took a sip before handing Seto the rest. He yawned as he took a seat at the table. Listening to the sizzle of the frying pan, he rested his head on the wooden surface with eyes closed.

The sound of the bowl hitting the table woke him up from a short dream. Seto drank the rest of his black sludge with a grimace; Furuhashi began to eat his breakfast quietly. The heat of the food immediately warmed Furuhashi up. He enjoyed the rare days when Seto cooked, even if it was something as simple as fried eggs and reheated rice. Food always tasted better when it was prepared by someone else. Seto felt the same way, though he would never say it. He thought Furuhashi’s overcooked chicken was better than anything he had ever made.

With only the clink of utensils and the munching of food, breakfast ended with hardly a word. The two soon left for their own jobs, off to deal with their own problems and their own miserable lives. Furuhashi took the train south to work an office job, and Seto went north for his job as an accountant. Neither of them were really in love with their work. They barely made enough to survive, and whatever extra they made went to supporting each other’s addictions. Furuhashi knew how much they spent on coffee but pretended not to, and Seto never bothered to check how much extra they would have if not for Furuhashi’s cigarette problem.

Seto’s job ended at five, and he was always the first one home. Naturally, he arrived too tired for much other than sleep, so the first thing did was fix himself a cup of coffee. With the steaming cup warm between his fingers, he felt thankful for Furuhashi’s early  morning shopping trip. The dark, bitter liquid was the only thing that kept him running. It was the only thing that pushed him through dull hours at work in the day, and kept him awake into the evening. Seto needed caffeine as much as Furuhashi needed nicotine.

Now, feeling more awake than ever, Seto decided to do chores. He quickly did the dishes and surveyed the fridge, tossing out the rotten milk Furuhashi was insistent on keeping. He also picked up both their clothes from the floor -it was imperative that he go do the laundry- and made sure they weren’t lacking  anything important.

He never finished, though. The chores were boring and he always gave up, leaving a worn-out Furuhashi to take care of the rest. Seto always tried to do chores for him, he really did, but it was terribly exhausting. A nap or two was a much better use of his time.

-

 “Wake up already or I’ll make sure you die choking on my foot.”

Seto was kicked awake by the heel of Furuhashi’s shoe and the ever-pleasant sound of violent threats. He pulled his eye mask off to see a ghost of the Furuhashi that had left that morning, seemingly drained of whatever life he had before. In his mouth burned the remains of a cigarette, and in his hand was a plastic bag full of take-out. From that, Seto knew it had been one of those particularly awful days after which Furuhashi would pay a fortune not to even look at the stove. It wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary, though.

Seto knew the extent of Furuhashi’s misery. He had known long before anyone else. His roommate worked long hours in a freezing office, for people he didn’t care about, for a company he didn’t identify with; often finding himself admiring the warm asphalt from a 20-story window, picturing himself in a beautiful pool of poppy red. All of this Seto knew because he often felt a similar desire to dedicate the rest of his life to sleep.

Furuhashi’s life was his personal hell. It was a daily struggle, holding back all the punches he wanted to land on his co-workers, and holding back the urge to stab his boss with a plastic knife. All of it had been easier in high school. Basketball had been a great outlet for the pent-up stress of maintaining perfect grades and happy parents. Whatever desire to kill he had dissipated with the tears of their opponents.

After graduation, however, he went on to his life as society’s happy little worker bee, and he only dreamed of going back to basketball, those days where his biggest concern was finally nailing that three-pointer.

In many ways, Seto felt the same. He missed the evenings at practice keeping him occupied for hours he would’ve otherwise wasted asleep. Even with the job he wanted, the job he _liked_ , it was never enough to keep him entertained. He often regretted not working harder on his rebounds; thinking maybe just maybe he would’ve joined the college team with Yamazaki. But it was no use thinking about it.

Dinner was hardly warm by the time they freed it from its prison of plastic and Styrofoam. The fried fish on rice looked better than it tasted, and it made their stomachs growl, though it wouldn’t satisfy. Furuhashi often saved money on good food for cigarettes, but Seto never questioned what was on the table.

“So, how was your day?” Seto took a piece of fish with his chopsticks, bringing it straight to his mouth. It tasted salty and dry, but he held back making a face. Furuhashi pushed it aside to serve himself rice.

“Shit. My boss didn’t show up so he could go to his niece’s 5th birthday party.”

“Damn, that sucks.” Seto spoke between mouthfuls of rice. “But I thought you hated your boss.”

“I do, but I hate the one he left in charge more.”

Furuhashi ended up taking the rest of the rice, leaving Seto with the fish he didn’t like.

Seto promised to do the laundry tomorrow to make up for the chores he slept on. Furuhashi had a million things he could say in response, but he didn’t utter a word. He only slumped on the couch, his head reeled back, resting against the cushion. He ignored the dust that jumped when he breathed out. Seto took a seat next to him, and for a while they both stayed there, left to contemplate their lives.

“Hey, want to get a drink?” Seto turned to Furuhashi, tired of the silence, and wanting him to cheer up. Furuhashi sighed, but his lips curled upwards into a small smile.

“Sure, why not.”

Just like that, they wasted no time in picking up their coats and going out the door.

Furuhashi lit a cigarette as soon as they hit the sidewalk. It was his third one that day, usually the last, though nothing ever really stopped him from a fourth or fifth. He went through cigarette boxes like Hara went through packs of gum; and he couldn’t even bother to remember why he started smoking. It was a mystery; much like why he started basketball, or why he started sleeping with Seto. Like the fading smoke leaving his lips, all of it was a blur, and in the end, he preferred to keep it that way.

They marched together closely, intimately, trying to stave off the chilling air around them. The way Seto’s arms wrapped around Furuhashi made it harder for them to walk, but neither of them complained. It was dark, and they were all alone. For a second, Furuhashi felt Seto’s warm breath brush against his ear. He imagined the feel of that warmth against his chest, and hoped Seto didn’t notice the heat rise in his face.

 “We’re here. You can get off me now.”

Seto smiled to himself as he let go. The bar in front of them was a quaint spot, nestled between a run-down apartment complex, and a beauty salon. It wasn’t the place for anything fancy, but it was perfect for people getting by on a budget.

Seto pushed open the door and Furuhashi followed. The tables were empty save for a few people dispersed here and there. A languid melody that played gave the place a nostalgic feel and it reminded them both of home. They sat together in the corner, ordering the usual second-hand wine and beer. The uneven stools rocked as they made themselves comfortable, but they leaned against the counter to keep from losing balance.

“Anything new?” Seto spoke as he let out a tired yawn while Furuhashi focused on the bartender’s back. 

“Not really. My boss is alive and rich, as usual.” He turned to Seto with absent eyes. “What about you?”

“Eh, I’ve been thinking about taking up gambling.”

Furuhashi gave him a punch to the gut, but Seto smiled and laughed. They both softened up after sharing a few drinks. Their favorite thing about that bar was that it couldn’t care less over drunken patrons. The bartender simply pretended not to notice as long as the drinks were paid for. The bar spoke money, and Seto and Furuhashi had nothing to complain about.

“Seto, I want to fuck.”

Furuhashi gulped down a mouthful of beer. Seto sighed, pushing back his hair.

“You’re drunk.”

“No, I’m not.”

Seto gave him that knowing look of ‘denying the truth never worked on me, and never will’ to which Furuhashi merely shrugged. He ordered another drink, almost out of spite.

When  Furuhashi finished his fourth (or fifth) cup, they were both ready to call it a night. Seto felt like tipping the bartender, but Furuhashi warned him if they were going to waste any extra money, then he would have to settle for instant coffee the next time they ran out. Seto could’ve reminded Furuhashi that it was him who had drunk the most, but he didn’t bother. It wasn’t in him to argue over something petty.

By the time they left the bar, the moon had travelled halfway through the sky, and the walk back home seemed eternal. The alcohol that had previously warmed their stomachs now betrayed them as they felt chills run through their bodies. All the same, they didn’t regret a drop of it. Furuhashi felt dizzy, but Seto steadied him, and he didn’t mind. Before he never liked people helping him, but lately he was always grateful to Seto for keeping him on his feet.

Seto did the honors of unlocking the door since Furuhashi’s hands trembled when they grasped the key.  The living room was dark and exactly how they left it: dusty and in desperate need of a good clean. But that would have to wait for a day when they bothered to care.

When they reached the bedroom, they both collapsed onto the bed, neither of them bothering to take off  his clothes. It didn’t take much for Seto to fall asleep -it never did- but Furuhashi remained awake as ever. It was always hard to sleep late at night. It was at those hours when he felt his biggest regrets resurface. It was even harder with the alcohol fuddling his thoughts. And when he felt the cold air making it difficult to breath.

He coughed weakly into his blanket, muffling the sound so Seto wouldn’t hear. He didn’t want Seto to notice he was still up. All so Seto wouldn’t realize, two hours later, that he was questioning his bad decisions all over again; wondering why he didn’t quit smoking like Hanamiya told him to, wondering why did didn’t quit his job like his sister said, wondering why nothing in his life ever did came out right. These were things he never wanted Seto to know. Because the last thing Furuhashi wanted for him was to worry. He owed him that much.


End file.
